


and i'm feeling like (it was only ever you)

by imperfectandchaotic



Category: Little Voice (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, the finale blew me away and I'm still pissed they haven't announced a s2 yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectandchaotic/pseuds/imperfectandchaotic
Summary: they still haven’t talked about that night. samuel seems perfectly content to pretend it never happened, except for the way he touches her with so much more ease than before— like he no longer has to hesitate before he’s pulling her in, taking her hand, squeezing her shoulder or the bend of her elbow in a way that’s more reassuring than bess can really describe.maybe there’s a song in there somewhere.[a gap filler of all the spaces in 1.09 + post-finale feels fest]
Relationships: Bess King/Samuel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	and i'm feeling like (it was only ever you)

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started this fic as a bridge between 1.08 and 1.09 but I got wine drunk the night before the finale. it ended up being a blessing cause I mean– what a kiss. this was also given a huge burst of inspiration from the best ship video I've ever seen by StarryEyed on youtube. go watch it. 
> 
> les sexy times abound. capitalization rules ignored for the vibe.
> 
> (originally posted in august of 2020)

  
saint c’s is quiet tonight; al shoos her away from the bar with a stern, surprisingly fatherly firmness and hands her a tray of shots. she blinks at him. there aren’t any parties of four left.  
  
he points at samuel, prisha, and benny loitering at the back of the club until she finishes. bess doesn’t follow. al sighs. “go have one with your friends on me, okay kid? i swear, watching you stress out sometimes is gonna give me an ulcer before my next birthday.”   
  
bess stammers a thank you and walks off with the alcohol before he can change his mind. she should apologize, she thinks. he’s been nothing but kind to her despite all the ways in which bess is hardly employee of the month right now. she should start an apology tour at the table, where prisha’s head is thrown back with laughter at something benny is saying, his hands outspread.  
  
these people are too good to her and she doesn’t deserve it, sometimes.   
  
samuel notices her first (like always it seems), tracking her progress across the room. he tilts his head, a silent _okay?_ and she moves her mouth in an approximation of a smile. his own lips quirk, like he’s trying to smother a laugh. she should be annoyed; she’s just grateful they aren’t fighting anymore— or worse yet, that it’s _weird._  
  
they still haven’t talked about that night. samuel seems perfectly content to pretend it never happened, except for the way he touches her with so much more ease than before— like he no longer has to hesitate before he’s pulling her in, taking her hand, squeezing her shoulder or the bend of her elbow in a way that’s more reassuring than bess can really describe.   
  
maybe there’s a song in there somewhere.   
  
“special delivery,” she announces at the approach. “drink fast, before al regrets giving us these.”   
  
“my man, my man,” benny croons. “we love you boss!” he calls, twisting to find al rolling his eyes from behind the register. the shots clink on the tabletop. bess hesitates, just a second, before leaning in to toast prisha. samuel’s eyes meet hers again over the rim of his glass. she tosses her head back before she can overthink any of it.  
  
“anyone want another?”   
  
benny and prisha grin; samuel shakes his head. bess does the mental math back to her last meal. one more certainly wouldn’t tip her over, but she’d be a fool not to recognize her own _unsettledness._ she springs for second shelf tequila; al smacks her hand away from the limes she’d cut herself not two hours ago.   
  
“no reaching over, you know that.”  
  
the closing porter pours and dishes lime and salt with disinterested, immaculate practice. bess presses an extra five into his hand and gets a silent tap on the inside of her wrist in thanks. she’s not normally into the whole process of tequila, but benny enjoys it. something silly in bess hopes that the bursting sting of lime will just wash all her chaos away.  
  
by the time she’s tilted her head back down a second time, samuel’s eyes are sliding away. her throat is curiously warmer than liquor normally manages. it feels like she’s caught him at something.   
  
“earth to bess!”   
  
“hmm?”   
  
prisha looks _amused,_ damn her. “you up for it?”  
  
“up for what?”  
  
benny’s smile is equally conspiratory.   
  
“dancing?”  
  
her first instinct is _god, no_. she and prisha haven’t gone dancing in what feels like years— bess still has a fake ID from the one and only time they snuck into a club at 19 years old, skipping the bar entirely for the pulsing beat of the dance floor.  
  
but she deserves this, doesn’t she? after everything? everyone’s looking at her now, probably expecting her to say no (samuel’s _definitely_ expecting her to say no), and maybe bess needs another shot after all because, “sure.” tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it.  
  
prisha and benny high five. samuel’s muted surprise is oddly delightful; bess wants to keep pulling it out of him, suddenly. “you coming too?” she asks. it’s not supposed to be a challenge but he raises one eyebrow as though bess had just asked him to duel.  
  
“well i’d be lame if I said no now, wouldn’t i?”  
  
that settled, bess excuses herself to grab her things from the back room. when she returns, benny is chatting with their night porter as he divides tips. she has to swallow an anxious lump before she can walk over.   
  
“hey.”  
  
“hey.” he returns her tentative smile and she hates herself. “ready to go?”  
  
“i’m sorry,” bess blurts. “about the other night. i was so awful to you and you were just—”  
  
“bess, hey.” benny’s hands land on her shoulders. “don’t worry about it, okay? i know you have a lot going on right now.”  
  
“that’s not an excuse,” she insists. “you’re just being a good friend and a _great_ manager and i shouldn’t have bit your head off for...” _for not letting me give up.  
  
_shame locks the words in her throat. how is it that she was the first person to let go of her own dream? bess has to take a deep breath. “i’m just really sorry.”  
  
he just looks at her for a long moment.   
  
“if i forgive you,” benny begins gently, “will you forgive yourself?”  
  
the question feels like a sucker punch.   
  
“cause i do, bess.” she can’t remember the last time one of her dearest friends was so serious. “i forgive you, and you gotta forgive yourself now cause we got work to do, yeah?”  
  
good god, _do not cry._ “okay.”   
  
“okay.” benny pulls her into a hug, squeezing tight. “we got you girl, alright? i told you, we’re in this together.”  
  
those are familiar words. bess lets them wash over her. how had she forgotten? where had she let herself fall that her friends couldn’t pull her back into the light?   
  
“c’mon.” bess accepts her saint c’s envelope with a grateful smile and benny steers her out of the club, his arm around her shoulders. “there’s fun to be had tonight.”  
  
“let’s _go,_ bess!”   
  
she lets prisha drag her forward, laughing despite herself and looping her arm through her best friend’s as they head out into the warm night air.   
  
“where the heck are those boys?” prisha asks at the next corner. benny and samuel of course, are following at a more sedated pace to her one track mind. bess catches samuel’s eye and he smiles in that crooked, amused sort of way she hasn’t seen in ages— not since they shot _more love,_ it feels like.  
  
relief is such a strange feeling for the moment, but there it is.   
  
  
*  
  
  
bess isn’t tired anymore.  
  
she has no idea when she became such a homebody (though louie’s social worker may thoughts) but her exhaustion from the day seems to disappear the moment the bass finds a home behind her ribs. prisha presses a tiny glass into her hand and bess doesn’t think. the vodka sears on the way down. it makes her gasp a little, like a live wire shock to the system. bess can only look up to see samuel wave from the bar before benny’s dragging her onto the floor; she loses sight of him in the crush of bodies and the pulse of the music carries her away.   
  
samuel’s still there, some two or three songs later.  
  
just before they lock eyes, bess notices something very _serious_ in his expression, something she can’t put into words fast enough, that draws a strange shiver from the base of her spine.   
  
then he smiles, familiar laugh lines and narrowed eyes, and it’s gone.   
  
bess remembers the way he’d so easily coaxed her into a silly dance set to their own music. have things gotten so strange between them that they could never go back there?  
  
not if she has anything to say about it.  
  
“I’m not drunk enough yet,” he objects, but his fingers close around hers even as he says it and she knows she’s won. samuel follows her so easily back to benny and prisha– like he’d follow her anywhere maybe, if she asked, and then suddenly bess is the one not quite drunk enough—   
  
and then the beat pulls them in again.   
  
it’s silly at first, just like before. at one point samuel and benny do the chicken dance to a hip-hop song and bess thinks she might die with laughter. she presses against prisha, hips and shoulders. her best friend spins her out; bess nearly stumbles but samuel is there, catching her by the elbows, drawing her in with that same teasing smile that had eased her nerves on that warm summer afternoon. she can see the memory of it reflected in his eyes.

bess wants to fall into it headfirst. she steps closer just as samuel pulls her in; her hand lands on the back of his neck; his fingertips slip under the hem of her top and brush the shy skin of her hip.   
  
samuel pauses, like a silent question, until bess coaxes his body back into the swaying rhythm with her own. her head feels heady, her body overwarm almost, but bess doesn’t want to stop because _there it is again_ , that serious look—  
  
bess wants—  
  
“ _dance, dance, dance is my lung—”  
_  
“fuck no!”  
  
the moment—or whatever _that_ was—grinds to a halt. samuel laughs so hard that she can feel his shoulders shaking. for several seconds they just look at each other, then over at benny who’s having the time of his _life,_ and then bess is doubling over too.   
  
samuel leans close to be heard over the din. “drink?” his breath brushes her ear and bess tries not to shiver, nodding enthusiastically in a vain attempt to cover for herself. they’ve lost prisha and benny to the worst song ever, so samuel keeps a firm grip on her hand as they snake their way back to the bar. there must be some kind of special on shots tonight. bess can only stare at a bartender pouring no less than twelve in a perfect row for a huge group of women. one is wearing a tiara and white sash.

that _trying not to laugh_ smile tilts samuel’s mouth while they wait their turn. the sardine pack of people presses them together from hip to shoulder but he doesn’t seem to mind.  
  
the bar curves around in a skinny oval, drinks being served on either side. as servers slide back and forth, bess notices a guy looking at her from across the way. _staring,_ more like it. the glint in his eyes makes her stomach turn. before bess can glare, turn away, or even _shudder,_ samuel’s arm slides around her. his fingertips trace the curves of her rings on the bartop— affectionate, possessive almost. bess turns her head and samuel winks before leaning forward to touch their foreheads together.  
  
“pretend i just told you something hilarious.” his mouth hovering over hers is almost too distracting— his free hand pinches her side to help her along and giggles jump out. bess doesn’t resist when samuel tightens his grip and pulls her closer against him. he presses his mouth to her temple just above her ear.  
  
“he’s gone.”  
  
bess does shudder now, though for a different reason altogether. “thanks.”  
  
samuel just squeezes her once before releasing her. their shots arrive finally, amber liquid glowing strangely in the light.   
  
“still good?” he asks, and bess nods firmly.  
  
“still good.”  
  
she meets his eyes as she brings the shot to her mouth. samuel is still looking at her when she puts the glass back down. inside her, it seems.  
  
“c’mon.” he says. samuel looks almost _fond_ now. bess blinks; a trick of the light? is she that tipsy already? “we’d better go find those two.”  
  
she just takes his hand and follows.   
  
  
*  
  
  
bess is... well.  
  
she’s not sober.   
  
benny had waved goodbye from an uber outside the club. they’d made it three quarters of the way to the subway station before ananya had called, quickly devolving into an impassioned conversation and prish too, vanished into a cab and promising to call when she got to her— girlfriend’s? house.   
  
“have fun you two!”   
  
and now:  
  
“i’m fine, sam.”   
  
his mouth twitches. “don’t think so, _b_.”   
  
yikes, she hates that. bess rolls her eyes, pointing at her station stairway. “you’re literally going in the opposite direction. it’s like...” she has to look at their cross streets and do the math. “eight stops. at the most.”  
  
samuel nods. “all about figure eights. love an even number. let’s go.”   
  
bess knows she should just let this go and stop being so stubborn. but something in her just can’t be stopped. samuel sighs, dragging her by the elbow across the sidewalk, out of the way of a clearly aggrieved businessman who disappears down the steps.   
  
“bess. just tell me something.” it’s hard to meet his eyes, intent as they are. “would you let prisha take the train home by herself tonight? if you were going... I dunno, home with me?”   
  
her stomach flips, surprising, terrifying, thrillingly pleasant. _it’s all the shots.  
_  
samuel’s ears go pink under the glow of the streetlight. “you know what i mean.” she’s stubbornly quiet; he ducks his head, refusing to be deterred. “bess.”  
  
“ugh, no. of course not!”  
  
“because you think she can’t take care of herself?”  
  
bess rolls her eyes. “she’s my best friend, you know that. it’s just what you do.”  
  
“right.” she hates the way samuel’s looking at her now, the way he had when he’d laid all her fears out bare in the close space of his apartment: so certain and so kind. “so why do you think i’d let _you_ take the train home alone?”  
  
for a moment, she can only stare. maybe it’s the alcohol, but samuel has never quite looked so _vulnerable_. bess doesn’t have the right words (maybe there aren’t any) so she just drags him forward by the shoulders. samuel exhales sharply, a faint laugh in her ear, but he wraps both his arms tight around her— an embrace that somehow feels more intimate than their pretence from hours before.  
  
bess endeavours not to think about it too much.  
  
“c’mon bestie,” she says when she pulls back. samuel does laugh fully this time, wide enough to show his teeth. bess thinks back to the night of their first gig, the sound of his _valerie_ chasing hers in echoes. it’s a wonder anyone’s more stubborn that she is.   
  
samuel ushers her down the stairs with a sweep of his arm and bess laughs too.  
  
  
*  
  
  
bess loves her dog.  
  
she’d convinced samuel he should probably come in for water, or tea, maybe an advil. ella had poked her head out from bess’ room and when she turns around from her perusal of the fridge, bess finds samuel fully sitting on the floor, ella laying between his legs, stroking her head.  
  
“who’s my sweetest girl?” he coos.   
  
her heart something funny inside her chest.  
  
samuel looks up, his obvious joy so bright in the dim light of the kitchen and bess is nearly choked with the possibility that she’d nearly pushed him too far away to ever see it again.   
  
“bess,” he says, his cheeks dimpling, “her ears are so _soft._ like, they’re the softest thing i’ve maybe ever felt in my life?”   
  
_wonder of wonders._  
  
she can only nod in emphatic agreement. how many shots have they _had_?   
  
“you’re lucky,” samuel continues, still making ella’s night by never stopping in his affection. bess’ eyes get stuck on his hands, the motion of his fingertips and the turns of his wrists. “my parents never let us have pets and my building doesn’t allow them either.”   
  
“you know ella would love if you came over and pet her all the time.”  
  
she gets that muted surprise again, which melts into something bess isn’t sure how to name.   
  
“would you like that, el? hmm?” he leans down to kiss the top of the dog’s head. “wanna spend more time with uncle samuel?”  
  
how is it that her most loyal companion is somehow more intimate with samuel than bess is? and why on earth would she ever have a thought like that?  
  
“so,” she says, maybe a bit too high-pitched for her own liking (ella looks up at her and bess wants to glare), “we have water, tea, popsicles, half a bottle of jack.”  
  
samuel laughs and shakes his head. “i thought we were sobering up?”  
  
bess shrugs. “so, popsicle?” he laughs again and it warms her inexplicably all the way to her toes.   
  
they have water, following ella into bess’ room, toeing out of their shoes when she jumps onto the bed. the dog puts her head on samuel’s lap and stares balefully up at him until he resumes his gentle stroking. bess leans back against her wall. she’s looking at ella and pretending she can’t feel the heat of samuel’s gaze on her face.  
  
if she thinks too hard about it, bess remembers wishing she could share a moment like this with someone else. she doesn’t regret anything that lead her here, but something in her is too afraid to meet samuel’s eye, like he’d be able to read the truth of that in her face and that she’d have somehow ruined tonight, this quiet moment of warmth and contentment.  
  
she leans her head on his shoulder and he turns his cheek into her hair. when bess finally looks up, samuel’s face is vey close.   
  
is he looking at her mouth?  
  
is she _leaning?_  
  
“are you drunk, bess?” he asks softly. she stops. considers.  
  
“yes. you?”  
  
samuel’s smile is a little rueful. he nods. “i should go.”  
  
bess understands. it’s late. they’re tired and inebriated. he has to go all the way back to his. they almost... and yet she says, “stay.”   
  
he blinks. “what?”   
  
_this might be a terrible idea._ “stay.”  
  
“but—”  
  
she rolls her eyes. “what makes you think i’d let you go home alone either?”  
  
the surprise is plain now. he looks that almost-vulnerable again. bess is oddly satisfied. “are you sure?”  
  
it’s strangely hard to keep his eye even as she points out, “we’re fine, right?” he nods again, a little slower. “and it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed.”  
  
when bess finally manages it, samuel’s gaze is very soft. “true.” and just when she thinks he’s going to refuse her still, he says, “okay. thanks.”  
  
how do you tell someone out that you just don’t want to be alone out loud?   
  
thankfully samuel doesn’t make her voice it. he just smiles as bess gathers something approximating pyjamas and crosses the room. “sorry i don’t have anything that would fit you,” (he snorts and she’s warmed) “but you know, make yourself comfortable however. come get a toothbrush from under the sink.”  
  
and so that’s how they end up side-by-side in the cramped bathroom of her and prisha’s apartment, brushing their teeth. samuel makes faces at her in the mirror and it should be strange, to be t-shirt and shorts/boxers open with him. but he’s seen down into the root of who she is, so isn’t all this _less_?  
  
he’s humming something familiar as she washes her face, catching her surprised reflection.   
  
“it’s yours.”  
  
bess casts her mind back. “from–”  
  
“that first night, yeah.”  
  
she nearly drops her face towel. bess has never shown him that song. samuel shakes his head with a chuckle, a familiar _you’re a weirdo_. “it would be just like you to play something that gets eight bars stuck in my head for months and never sing it again.”  
  
“i...” bess can’t pinpoint a reason besides her own fear, like a karmic penance for one of the most humiliating nights of her life. “i can’t believe you remember.”  
  
there’s a truth in his eyes that neither of them are willing to admit they can see.   
  
“wanna work on it?” she asks impulsively, determined now to redraw a better memory, “maybe tomorrow?”  
  
samuel’s grin is so wide it’s almost hard to take in all at once. “this mean you’re gonna actually do that open mic?”  
  
bess shrugs. she needs to escape this tiny room all of a sudden. “maybe.”  
  
he doesn’t push her further and she’s grateful. samuel hesitates at the edge of her bed as bess pulls up the cover.   
  
“oh my god, just get in the bed samuel.”  
  
and he does. their knees touch. bess turns out the light but there’s still just enough to see him looking at her. drunkenness has made her warm and sleepy.   
  
“what?”  
  
“for the record,” he says, “i know what i think of you.”  
  
it feels like they’re teetering on an edge. “cool grandpa?”  
  
they laugh so hard that ella jumps from the foot of the bed. samuel looks so fond that bess doesn’t know what to do with herself. “yeah. that’s it.”  
  
“night samuel,” she whispers.   
  
“night bess.”  
  
  
*  
  
  
(she wakes up before the sun, tangled up in him.   
  
for once, rather than overthink it, bess just closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.)  
  
  
*  
  
  
bess can’t stop smiling.  
  
before she could even look at samuel after getting offstage, benny had lifted her off her feet and proceeded to all but bulldoze everyone in the club to get her in front of jeremy’s record label contact.  
  
could he tell that she’d just been kissed within an inch of her life? it feels like it’s written all over her face.  
  
bess can barely remember what she said, but his personal contact card is currently burning a whole though her purse. al buys them a round.  
  
(she finds ethan lingering in the back.  
  
what he says to her is somehow a surprise and not both at once.  
  
what she says to him, in the end, feels long overdue.)  
  
prisha insists everyone come back to their place to celebrate, and they pile into ubers. louie exalts her as a true artist the entire ride and even phil seems impressed.  
  
true to form though, he’s a roledex of weather facts as bess and prisha frantically pull out every candle or flashlight in the apartment; their lights flicker ominiously every so often as the storm beats down their windows. benny puts a playlist together and tries to order pizza.  
  
by some miracle, it actually arrives; everyone pools together for a 150% tip.  
  
so it feels like ages before bess looks up to find samuel leaning against the alcove of her living room, watching as louie begins a spirited debate on the best numbers in _hamilton._  
  
bess nods her head toward the door of her bedroom. she’s expecting him to make a silly face with his eyebrows or hesitate, but samuel’s mouth just curves up on one side, like that’s all he’s allowing himself, and follows.  
  
“for the record,” he says as the sounds of the party fade a little behind them, “the answer will always be _satisfied._ no contest.”  
  
god, how had she never _seen him_ before?  
  
her bedside lamp is still working. bess fishes out a pale white whale from childhood, one that changes colour as you tap. she grins at samuel, who’s leaning against her closed door and smiling like he’s not even sure what to make of her.   
  
“you’re incredible, you know that?”  
  
her face heats, pride and embarrassment both at once. “so are you. i can’t believe we got through that song.”  
  
“all you, bess.”   
  
she wants to roll her eyes, but refrains. “the electric was a great idea.”  
  
samuel’s eyes drop when he smiles; the familiar humility in it reminds bess of the reason she wanted to talk to him in the first place.   
  
“i know what you did tonight. before you showed up.”  
  
he looks up then, a little sharply. samuel’s always had a good poker face but bess can see it still, that guarded look. “what did i do, bess?”  
  
saying it out loud makes her feel like she’s in a movie. bess steps forward. “you told ethan to come. for me.”  
  
“are you upset?”  
  
“no. i just want to understand why.”  
  
samuel’s gaze is as steady as it’s ever been. “i just want you to be happy.”   
  
she feels unraveled, somehow.   
  
“then why did you...” even in the poor light, he flushes. “why did you kiss me?”  
  
samuel looks at the floor, then back at bess. her heart beats in double time. “he didn’t show, or so I thought. and I didn’t want to...” he laughs lightly, almost at himself. “throw away my shot. I guess I wasn’t really expecting you to—”  
  
_try to press him into the wall?_ “to kiss me back, or even what that might mean, but I wanted to show you, or tell you that—”  
  
she’s close enough to touch him now. samuel’s hands cup her elbows, very gently, like he needs to ground himself. but he looks bess right in the eye.  
  
“even if you didn’t want me, i’d choose you first. every time.”   
  
her heart free-falls.   
  
“bess.” he squeezes a little, catching her eyes. how long have they been standing in this moment of _after?_ “please say something.”  
  
“i told him we couldn’t work,” she says in a rush. “and i don’t even know if it was really because you and I—”  
  
bess stumbles but samuel hangs on, his grip on her unwavering, “but i think part of me always knew it was just...like, a fantasy? we barely even knew each other and i always hated myself a little for being that girl trying to steal someone else’s partner and i wasn’t dealing with any of my shit until—”  
  
samuel just waits. the realization feels too big, but there’s no going back now.  
  
“until i met you.”  
  
he looks almost _stricken._ bess lets out a strange, wondrous kind of laugh. she puts her hand on samuel’s chest. she’s the one who needs steadying, now. he draws her closer without looking away from her face, like he’s helpless to it.   
  
bess can’t remember the last time she felt so sure of anything. all those those expressions that always felt hidden in his eyes seem so plain, now: surprise, fear, hope.  
  
“i choose you, samuel. though i probably don’t even deserve to.”   
  
she can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. samuel’s hand brushes her hair back away from her face, tracking the curve of her ear. just before she’s about to freak out, he asks,  
  
“are you drunk, bess?”  
  
she nearly laughs. “no. are you drunk, samuel?”  
  
he shakes his head. she understands that serious look, now.  
  
it’s wanting.  
  
he _wants_ her _._  
  
samuel goes to pull her the rest of the way in—  
  
“bess!”   
  
louie’s voice and a loud knock on the door springs them apart. the lights go out.   
  
“bess, we’re going now. and the lights are out. do you have a source of light in there? are you coming to say goodbye?”  
  
samuel lets out a long, low “ _fuck.”_ she has to clap her hand over her mouth. his nearly silent laugh ghosts over her skin as he presses his face into the curve of her neck.   
  
(samuel kisses her there, just once, but it’s enough that her knees tremble a little and she can feel the shape of his smile too.)   
  
“i’ll be right out!” bess calls to her brother. his shadow moves away from the door. hysterical giggles shake her shoulders. samuel’s hands slide up to hold her face. “do you wanna—”  
  
“come home with me.”  
  
she can barely make out his features in the dark (except for the _want_ ) but bess’ stomach drops anyway. the irony of no electricity is funny when she feels like sparks might burst from beneath her skin.   
  
“okay.”  
  
  
*  
  
  
bess is deliriously happy.  
  
samuel puts down his guitar and barely lets the door close before he’s pressing bess against it with both hands. his palms are heavy and warm on her hipbones; bess wants to rock up against him but there’s a certain thrill in it, how strong he seems.   
  
she has no idea the last time she was kissed like _this._  
  
despite how fierce it feels, samuel lets her lead. he doesn’t open his mouth until she does, touches his tongue tentatively against hers at first pass, tugs so gently on her lip with his teeth until she makes a noise like a whimper.   
  
she should tell him maybe, that samuel made her completely forget herself, back in the alcove at saint c’s. but then bess just lets her hands find their way back into his now slightly damp hair. she’ll just relive it instead.  
  
she scrapes her nails over his scalp and samuel’s breath comes up short; it returns in something that sounds like a groan, or a snarl, and _oh._  
  
bess has to take deep breaths of her own when he pulls back, a wide-eyed glance to her face to make sure she’s alright. she can only nod. samuel’s fingertips squeeze her waist as some of that urgency seems to fade from his eyes. he trails his mouth slowly from her lips to her jaw; she tilts her head instinctively to give him room and samuel finds that same spot on her neck from her own bedroom. his teeth and tongue press a little harder than before; he gets a gasp for his efforts.

her legs feel unsteady again. bess grabs at the open sides of his button-down until samuel shrugs out of it. it drops to their feet. he doesn’t protest when bess pushes him gently, walking backwards across the apartment with his arm tight around her.   
  
he doesn’t let go when his legs meet the edge of his bed. bess would fall into him if not for samuel keeping them upright. he drops to sit, pulling them apart, and finally bess has to take stock of herself. samuel’s face is so _open_ , his smile so wide in a way she’s never seen before.   
  
“still good?” he asks. bess nods.   
  
“still good?”  
  
samuel laughs lightly. “i’m great, bess.” he reaches for her hand, his thumb brushing each of her rings in turn. “we can stop whenever you want.”  
  
she’s the one standing but bess feels smaller, strangely. instead of replying, bess steps out of her shoes. samuel’s eyes seem to darken as she slides her jacket from her shoulders and lets it pool on the floor. bess leans down and brings one knee to the bed, by his hip, balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder. samuel’s inhale is impossibly loud as he instinctively supports her with a sliding grip up the back of her thigh. bess’ skirt isn’t that short but she’s glad she didn’t trade it for jeans before she left.

samuel’s face betrays how pleased he seems by her choice.   
  
once she’s finished effectively straddling him, bess looks down from her perch.   
  
“hi.”  
  
samuel’s knuckles stroke up and down her leg. goosebumps ripple and he smiles.  
  
“hi.”  
  
bess takes his face in both her hands and leans down as samuel tilts his chin up to meet her. she’ll never tire of kissing him. it feels like she can’t get close enough; he must have the same idea because his arms wrap around her back until bess is sitting firmly in his lap, their hips slotted together.   
  
“can i touch you?” samuel asks against her mouth. bess nods, maybe too quickly, but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed.   
  
guitar callused fingers slide beneath her top. samuel reaches the slim band of her lacy bralette. he pauses, but bess leans into his hand and then he’s tracing the curve of her breast. his thumb brushes a little roughly over her nipple; bess feels an abrupt ache between her legs.  
  
“that seems pretty,” samuel murmurs in her ear, like a casual observation.  
  
“it’s a matching set,” she replies, trying not to sound too breathless. “for luck.”  
  
he pulls back with wide eyes. bess wants to laugh but she’s too busy dealing with this rush of blood to her face. she sits up carefully so they don’t knock heads and reaches for the edges of samuel’s t shirt first; he drags it over his head in one smooth, practiced motion.  
  
_shit, he’s hot._  
  
he’s staring as bess unfolds herself to stand back on the floor (her legs are still unsteady but he doesn’t need to know that) and goes to pull off her own shirt _._ samuel’s eyes don’t leave her face until the fabric coming over her head pulls her from view. when bess blinks him back into focus, he’s gone a little slack-jawed. she nods at his jeans and the speed at which samuel divests himself of them has her biting back a giggle. 

bess’ face feels hot but there’s a frisson of pride that straightens her spine. she’s not even half an arm’s length away from him. samuel touches her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt.  
  
“can I?”  
  
bess has to swallow before she can nod. just like before, samuel stares at her face until the last half of her outfit joins the rest of their clothes in a heap. samuel’s eyes trail from her eyes to her feet and back. it takes everything in bess not to fidget. she expects to see heat in his expression but there’s only wonderment and tenderness.   
  
“fuck, you’re so beautiful.”  
  
she has no idea what to do with that.  
  
samuel tugs her into his lap this time, intent. his kiss is searing. bess rocks into him, just once, just a little. that grip on her thighs returns, tighter. bess can only gasp a laugh into his mouth when samuel stands, holding her up against him, and turns to lower her with a kind of breathtakingly slow care onto his bed. bess lands on her back, samuel now the one leaning over her. desire coils low in her stomach. he gently shifts her hips so they’re both actually parallel with the long edges of the comforter.   
  
she feels inexplicably, unbearably, fond of him.   
  
then samuel looks away. he exhales, like he’s embarrassed.   
  
bess frowns in concern.  
  
“what is it?”  
  
samuel shakes his head. “when you look at me like that, I can’t catch my breath.”  
  
_oh.  
  
_it feels so strange to be the steadier one. bess reaches for his cheek, drawing samuel’s eyes back to her. “guess you’ll just have to distract me, then.”  
  
he laughs, but then as he leans down, samuel’s smile fades and bess remembers. _he wants her._ she can _feel it._ his hand slides, pleasantly rough, over her skin, sliding beneath the band of her bralette. bess seizes samuel’s lip in her teeth as he strokes back over her breast. he teases her nipple and the moment bess manages to wriggle out of the garment and tosses it away, samuel’s swapped his hand with his tongue, her other breast now teased by his clever fingers.  
  
she gasps again and she can feel him smirking. samuel diverts his mouth’s attention to her other side. bess focuses on her breathing. the storm still lashes against the windows but it feels like nothing compared to the roaring in her blood. bess slides her fingers up the nape of samuel’s neck and a few things happen at once:  
  
samuel’s free hand finds the damp junction between her legs; bess pulls his hair a tiny bit harder than intended; his teeth catch her nipple with _just enough_ firmness that bess’ back nearly arches off the bed, along with a keening noise she didn’t even realize she could make.  
  
samuel freezes immediately. he looks up and bess has no idea what her face looks like, but all she can say is, “do that again.”  
  
he leans back down, his teeth scraping over her other breast; when he _tugs,_ bess does too, so hard that samuel hisses.   
  
“sorry,” she pants, “sorry.”  
  
he shakes his head, a firm denial.  
  
it might be the dark, the lightning, or the fact that bess is so fucking turned on, but samuel’s expression has veered far past wanting— into _hunger._ he practically leaps back up to her mouth, a kiss so fierce that their teeth nearly clack together.  
  
“your hands,” he says, like it enrages him almost, “in my hair, holy _fuck.”  
_  
_oh_ was right.  
  
“you’re one to talk about hands,” bess retorts. “can you please just–”  
  
samuel leans back. “can i please just what?” he looks _smug_ the bastard. it would be like them to bicker in the middle of sex, wouldn’t it? but his tone is so serious when he says, “tell me what you want, bess.” that she has to squeeze her thighs together.   
  
“please touch me.”  
  
“where?”   
  
bess is going to kill him. samuel touches her cheek with surprising gentleness, and kisses her there. “here?” he does the same to her neck. “here?” her shoulder. he marks the valley of her breasts, the slope of her navel, the jut of her pelvic bone.  
  
“samuel,” bess says. it sounds like a plea but she doesn’t care. she can only reach his shoulder now, the back of his neck. he may have shivered but she can’t tell because she’s too busy trying to keep it together.   
  
he finally finds the elastic of her underwear.   
  
“okay, bess?”  
  
this question isn’t a joke. bess makes sure to meet samuel’s eye; the mixture of that desire and care makes her dizzy. “yes. please.”  
  
when his fingers have finally slid inside her, bess says “ _samuel_ ,” at a level of breathlessness she only ever gets when she sings. he touches her with the same care and confidence as he does any of their instruments, until her legs tremble; samuel finds a beat with his tongue against her clit that’s so good bess has to cover her mouth when she comes.   
  
samuel crawls back up the bed towards her. he leaves a kiss on the inside of her knee, and her shoulder, just an inch or two from where he had the first night she’d stayed here. bess feels very safe, suddenly.   
  
“still good?” samuel asks again, a more raw edge to the question this time. bess can only affirm silently as she leans up a little to kiss him. she can taste herself in his mouth, can feel the weight of his arousal against her. bess presses up and samuel groans.   
  
heat pulses again between her legs.  
  
“do you want,” bess starts, putting her hands on him, straining against his boxers. samuel’s whole body seems to twitch. he pulls her wrists away though with a bruising kiss.   
  
“i’m just dying to be inside you, if that’s cool.”  
  
her stomach flips.   
  
“very cool.”  
  
samuel smiles and goes willingly when bess rolls them over. he reaches blindly into a bedside drawer. bess catches sight of a pair of glasses and makes a mental note to ask about them when her mind’s not currently so occupied.   
  
“shit, are these even in date?” samuel squints at the packet in his hand. “god, have i not had sex in this long?”  
  
bess can’t help but laugh. they giggle their way through confirming the expiry date, getting rid of samuel’s boxers, and rolling on the condom in the dark. for a moment they just look at each other. bess hasn’t _ached_ like this for anyone in a long time.   
  
“tell me what you want, samuel.”  
  
his adam’s apple bobs as he sits up. “c’mere.”   
  
samuel pulls her forward and bess lifts her hips to line them up. he swallows her tiny gasp as she sinks down onto him; it’s been a while for her, too. samuel anchors her with one hand splayed across her back, waiting silently until bess has adjusted to the stretch.   
  
bess rocks down experimentally and he makes an almost strangled noise in the back of his throat. a soft kiss lands on her forehead, a starkly tender inverse to nearly everything that’s happened so far, and maybe even to what they’re about to do.  
  
it settles bess and breaks her open both at once.   
  
“okay?” he asks carefully. she nods, wrapping both her arms around his neck. “you’re amazing, you know that?” samuel murmurs over her lips. his own hips swing up towards hers and _wow. “bess.”_  
  
she was right, before. he’s _strong_.   
  
they get a rhythm going quickly enough, like another harmony that comes so easy. the angle has bess’ clit pressing with beautiful pressure against samuel’s pelvis; she clenches down just as he thrusts up. he curses and it just stokes that flame hotter inside of her.  
  
after a certain point bess can’t even speak anymore. she has both her hands in samuel’s hair and he’s latched back onto the curve between her neck and shoulder, teeth and tongue and words like, _fuck_ and _good_ and _bess—_  
  
“samuel i—”  
  
he looks up at her face like he wants to commit it to memory.   
  
_“bess.”_  
  
and she’s gone again.  
  
  
*  
  
  
when they’ve caught their breath and tidied up, bess and samuel find themselves side by side in his bathroom, a sweet reflection of that night from weeks ago. she’s glad she thought to bring her toothbrush. samuel keeps staring at her in the mirror.   
  
“what?”   
  
does she have toothpaste on her face?  
  
he just shakes his head, the way he does when he laughs to himself.   
  
“nothing. you just look better in my t-shirts than i do.”   
  
bess rolls her eyes but her face feels hot anyway. “weirdo.”  
  
it feels good not to have to wonder as they head back to his bed. samuel drags her immediately towards him beneath the covers, his cool hands greedy beneath her borrowed sleepwear as her back curves against his chest. he plants a minty kiss above her shoulder-blade where his shirt’s slipped down. bess shivers and he leaves another on the back of her neck.  
  
“sorry,” he murmurs, and bess flips around to look at him.   
  
“for what?”  
  
the storm broke finally, and amber light of the street through his windows feels just as safe and warm as it had before. but samuel is the one who seems afraid, now.   
  
“i don’t want to freak you out.”  
  
“you’re not freaking me out,” bess insists. “tell me.”  
  
samuel hesitates. bess reaches out to touch his face.   
  
“hey. i don’t scare that easy either, you know.”  
  
he exhales a faint laugh. it’s so rare to see samuel seem unsure, or fragile. it makes bess feel thrillingly off-centre.   
  
“i don’t think i’ll ever be able to stop wanting you.”   
  
she’s falling.   
  
“and not just—” samuel nods vaguely at their general closeness. “this. i mean all of it. the music, your family, everything. i know it’s probably a bad idea to start things with bandmates or whatever but i just—”   
  
bess doesn’t let him finish. she can only pour all her affection for him into a kiss, taking samuel’s huff of surprise in her mouth even as he reaches for her waist to pull her closer, then on top of him.   
  
when she pulls away he seems a little dazed.   
  
“you make the bad days okay,” bess says firmly and samuel smiles with such near-adoration that she understands it now, that loss of air. “so we’ll figure it out, okay? one day at a time.”  
  
samuel nods. “okay.”   
  
and he pulls her back down.  
  
  
*  
  
  
bess wakes up with words in her mind.   
  
samuel’s grip is so tight that at first she doesn’t think he’ll let her go. but bess manages to slide away, picking up his hand gently and lifting his arm. she looks at his sleeping face and kisses his knuckles.   
  
samuel’s lips curve a little and if she looks too hard she could be in love with him already.   
  
she knows where he keeps blank sheet paper in his production area. bess finds a pen and a coffee table book about new york parks; she sits on the edge of the bed to scrawl, humming to herself.   
  
she doesn’t realize he’s up until a familiar press of lips lands on her neck. bess will never stop shivering and samuel will apparently never stop smiling about it.   
  
“hi,” he mumbles. his voice is low and gravely with sleep. bess files that away under the list of things that _does something to her._ samuel hooks his chin over her shoulder and bess lifts her work to accommodate his arms sliding around her waist. “new idea?”  
  
bess nods. “thinking about what you said to me.”   
  
she’s circled _can’t catch my breath_ at the top of the page. samuel goes very still. it feels like it could crush them, the weight of this kind of intimacy. but at least bess doesn’t have to carry it alone.  
  
“wanna write with me?”   
  
she turns her head to look at him; samuel’s surprise will never not be thrilling.   
  
“will you let me add a back beat?”   
  
he’s already reaching for his guitar. bess laughs.   
  
“i could maybe be persuaded.”  
  
the way his eyebrow lifts makes her stomach jump. “duly noted.”

  
  
(they do finish the song, eventually.   
  
the morning just gets away from them first.) 

**Author's Note:**

> renew !! little !! voice !!


End file.
